


The Sight of the Aftermath

by classics_above_classics



Series: Alice Dorothy and Stories Set Elsewhere [9]
Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Changelings, Gen, Misunderstandings, Violence, the Fair Folk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classics_above_classics/pseuds/classics_above_classics
Summary: There is danger in letting misunderstandings lie, especially. when dangerous people are involved.(Thankfully, you can always talk yourself out of it.)





	The Sight of the Aftermath

Alice Dorothy has no idea how she’s going to talk her way out of this one.

First things first, for clarity ongoing, she _did not_ make that carving. She does not know how it works, the extent of its magic, how it was created or the reasoning behind it. All she knows is that it makes people more pliable, more willing. She can only imagine how terrible it must have been for Lyric-Weaver, sleeping all alone in this room with this magic working on them.

She can only imagine how it must have affected her.

Still, that is a non-issue, with Lyric-Weaver’s magic flashing bright and green and the leaves at the door whipping outwards into thorny vines. Her protections are minor, she knows, just enough to get through the hallways relatively safe, and they will do nothing against true hostility. The magic is stealing away her breath, spiking painfully through her lungs, but she doesn’t dare cough. Any noise could set Lyric-Weaver off.

Should she just take it? Take the punishment, the pain, the anger? But God knows what that could do to her. She’d never survive. She wants to keep living, free and alive; she wants to go to school tomorrow and have breakfast and see the world. She wouldn’t be able to do that if she just sat through everything that could happen.

She could attack. The nail in her hand could stab through an eye easily if she’s fast enough. But she knows she probably isn’t. And it would make the whole thing worse.

As always, the issue is calming the aggressor down. Simple, cut and dry, a common enough situation. But she doesn’t know _why_ Lyric-Weaver is so angry. She can’t talk it through if she doesn’t know what to say.

That’s fine, right? She’s never known what to say. General to specific. This is like every argument in her life. She just has to calm them down. She just has to- to redirect them. To make them consider different targets. That’s fine, right? She just has to redirect them.

“I wasn’t the one who put the carvings there!” Alice Dorothy chokes out, forcing the words through her closed-up throat and through her beating heart. “They were there before I ever came through this dorm! It was here on the first day, back before I came here! Someone else carved those things!”

“ _Who, then?!_ ” Lyric-Weaver’s voice is louder than it should be, harder to make out past a sudden rush of wind. “Who put this- this _curse_ at the entrance?! Who could it be if not you?!”

“Why do you think it was me?” It’s a desperate grab for information, one that’s almost guaranteed not to work right. Still, Alice D. tries. It’s better than nothing. She needs outside help, needs some way to distract them, needs someone on whom she can pin the blame. It’s a disgusting, sickening thought. It’s all she has. “I wouldn’t ever want to do that to someone! I would never want to force someone into thinking that! People deserve better than that!”

“Then _who did it?!_ ” Lyric-Weaver reaches out, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her up against the door. D. hadn’t remembered to remove her glasses back when she entered, had really just been looking over the top of them to the changeling’s blurry form, and in the periphery of her vision now she can see a massive, vine-woven hand. “Who are you going to blame? Who _is_ there to blame, Debt-Breaker, for something you must have done?”

Lento. It has to have been Lento. It was Lento who’d always worn iron in the room, as if to protect her from some low-level magic. It was Lento who’d been here all alone the year before, with two full semesters to work her magic. It was Lento who was so willing to do things like this, who was so actively involved in making people owe her more and more. It has to have been Lento.

But just saying that outright wouldn’t work. It sounds like an excuse. It will always sound like an excuse, blurting out some name. She has to make Lyric-Weaver believe her. Lyric-Weaver has to follow her thought process, to understand why she thinks it has to be Lento. How else could she possibly make them believe?

“I was only in this dorm for around a month,” Alice D. tries. “The carving is older that. Look at it- you can tell! It’s all faded and worn, isn’t it? It’s been there since even before this year! I wasn’t here before this year. You can ask the teachers, or the staff, or other students.”

Lyric-Weaver pauses, their grip on D.’s throat loosening slightly. She gulps in a breath of air, as quietly as possible. It is still dangerous. She has to keep thinking. “I will give you this,” the changeling mutters lowly. “The magic is older than your presence here.”

“The most likely people to have carved this are other students, right? Students or girls that have stayed in this room?” The carving is more inside the doorway than out, not even visible from outside when the door is closed. It would have been near-impossible to carve it without the students inside knowing. “Can you tell how old the magic is? We could ask the staff members about who was in the room at that time.”

“I know how old the magic is.” Slowly, all too slowly, the changeling lowers her down, until Alice D.’s feet are almost touching the floor. “It was done on Samhain, the year before this.”

“Last school year?” At Lyric-Weaver’s nod, D. winces. “Last school year… I think Lento said she was the only one there. Her roommate requested to be transferred around late September. If it was done around the end of October…”

“You’re saying you think the girl I took the place of is the person who carved this magic into the entrance?” Lyric-Weaver’s grip tightens, and D. gasps as her breath is cut off by the sharp movement. Her glasses clatter to the ground. “You think I would believe such a clear distraction? Do not lie to me! It has to have been you! How could I trust the word of someone so desperate to tear away debt?!” There are thorns cutting into the side of her neck. She’ll have to clean up so many cuts when she gets out.

_When_ she gets out.

“I don’t know who did it! I-” There has to be some way. There has to be some way to convince them. She just has to do something _else_.

Something Else?

“I can prove that I didn’t do it.” She won’t ask for a week to prove it. She won’t ask for a day. There is magic in this school, isn’t there? Magic that can prove her right. “I can give you my memory! The memory of the first time I entered the dorm, I mean! I saw it there when I entered. I didn’t know what it meant, or any of the magic it held. I- I can give you that.”

“Your memory?” The grip loosens. Alice D. can feel the cold air stinging against her wounds, pain prickling at the edges of her awareness. “You would offer your memory?”

“The first fifteen minutes of the first time I entered the dorm room.” She knows she saw it then. She knows, knows, _knows_. “I will give you this. It’ll prove that I didn’t do it, I swear!”

“And if it does not?”

“I…” Fuck it. If it doesn’t convince them, she’s fucked anyway. “I’ll keep trying to prove it.”

“You are a persistent little thing, Debt-Breaker.” D. is getting the feeling that Lyric-Weaver doesn’t know her safename. “Alright. Let us see this proof.”

A circle of leaves wraps around her head, tight and definitely enough to leave bruises. There’s a headache building, one that feels like someone’s taking an axe to her skull. Her stomach is twisting, her lungs are aching, and she feels like her throat is going to cough out blood. Whatever this is-

- _“Nice to meet you, newbie!” a pretty girl greets, her eyes sparkling in the warm light of the dorm room. “Are you tired? You must be-“_

-whatever this is –

- _“No, I- I’m fine-”_

_“Still, let me get them-”_

-it hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_ -

_Alice D. smiles politely, steps into the room past the odd trinket hanging from the entrance and past the little hearts carved into the wooden doorframe._

The pain stops.

D. gasps, collapsing as the hand wrapped around her neck lets go. She breaks into a fit of coughing, curling up instinctively on the floor. What was that? She’s always felt wrong around magic, around the sheer amount of it buzzing around Elsewhere University, but this-

This felt like being torn apart.

It’s terrifying. She never wants to feel it again.

D. takes a moment to collect herself, to remember the room she’s in and the reason she’s here. She knows what she gave away. She can’t remember it anymore, after all.

“Fifteen minutes,” Lyric-Weaver says quietly. Their voice isn’t quite as lost to the wind anymore. “Fifteen minutes. You were not lying.”

“I don’t know who put those there. I don’t understand _why_.” Her words are coming out pained, weak, but this has to be said. No-one else will say it. “From the timing, knowing what I do about her, it could be Lento. It could easily be Lento.”

“What do you know?”

“She admires magic. She loved using it.” Alice D. pushes herself up, leaning heavily on the faded wall. “She’s clever, she’s bold, and she- she wanted people to owe her. To do what she wanted. She wanted them to let her take the lead and not go against her. I- I don’t want it to have been her. But I can’t excuse suspicious behaviour and I can’t excuse the possibility. It could easily have been her.”

Lyric-Weaver nods, looking down to meet D.’s eyes. “I have to make sure.”

“What will you do?”

“I will find her.” The changeling shifts, their body mutating into something taller, thinner, more inhuman. The light doesn’t reflect off their eyes anymore. “I will seek retribution.”

Retribution. God, that word. She hates the very thought of it. Retribution’s going to be the reason for a very large mess if people keep seeking it.

“I apologize for mishandling you,” Lyric-Weaver adds on, pausing as they open the door. “Would you tell Connor I will be gone for a while? It will take some time to find her, considering how far she must have gone.”

“I’ll tell them.” After they go find some soap and water, maybe. Connor’s not going to like that their new friend’s gone missing on some revenge quest. “I hope for the best.”

“So do I.”

Their definitions of what is best couldn’t be more different.

Lyric-Weaver nods once, a quiet goodbye, and they disappear in the whisper of wind.

Alice D. sighs, crouching down to pick her glasses up off the floor. Her head is spinning, she muses. Was it the magic? It must have been. She wants to curl up on an armchair and drink coffee with cream. It’s always a good way to alleviate dizziness.

She’s not sure how she’s going to explain the cuts. She’s not sure if she wants to.

“Maybe I could ask Michael to let me sleep in his office again,” D. muses, remembering the welcoming room. It’s nearing six now, or at least, it must be. Her bed and her room are comfortable, really, but she’s always felt safer in the classrooms and the offices. She could probably bring some pillows over. A blanket, maybe. It’d be safer.

For now, though, she’ll head over to the dorm room and tell Connor. They deserve to know the reason Lyric-Weaver’s suddenly missing in action. It’ll all work out fine tonight. It will. She’ll have some coffee and sleep in an office and everything will be fine.

It’s the best thing she can hope for.


End file.
